


Call My Name

by Azraeldigabriel



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Jake is a protective PA, M/M, Post-debate, Some angst, Transformation, and pushy, gilded-billionaire, the erikas are somewhat creepy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azraeldigabriel/pseuds/Azraeldigabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was going to be Mayor. He was going to do a lot of things before he was yanked from existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call My Name

**Author's Note:**

> First multi-chapter fic posted here, oh man. Feel free to check out my Marcus rp blog at gilded-billionaire.tumblr.com, and my friend's beautiful Jake at billionaires-pa.tumblr.com!

Marcus had told many lies in his life. They had ranged in depth, in severity, but had never had a lasting impression. He couldn’t remember them, not a single one, but he couldn’t help but think he’d failed himself for the final lie that left his lips.

“Nope, I’m fine. Next question.”

He didn’t remember the tears starting. He’d simply blinked and there they were, pattering onto the page of notes his P.A had so helpfully prepared for him, the screen of his phone that still held a brightly lit “Sent!” on the email bearing said P.A’s name (with two hearts for good measure, never enough hearts for his Jakey). His surroundings were vague blurs, including the cluster of heads to one side and fleeting yet oddly comforting whisper of a woman to the other. 

There was another sensation, a burning behind his eyes that he couldn’t quite place. Something reminded him of void, of iron, of dust. The scent of it caught in his nose, and he instinctively hunched away from his microphone to take a few steeling breaths. 

“This question is only for Marcus.”

He perked at his name, at how the words seemed to sting and scour into the recesses of his mind. He didn’t hear the rest. He didn’t feel the rip and tear of the wings as they split through his skin, gold stretching skyward in brilliant light. A brief view of the ceiling flashed in front of him before his eyes flashed over ebony.  
And he was gone. 

Marcus found himself stumbling, prodded along by guiding hands, clicks and coos resonating too loudly, too deeply into his consciousness. They called him Erika, refusing to listen to his confused yelps of “That ain’t my name” until they died on his void-soaked lips and he felt his presence cease. 

Their name was Erika, wasn’t it. They’d been called to a higher place, adorned in golden wings and a splendid halo. It was something to be proud of, wasn’t it. They didn’t remember where they were previously, memories flickering few and far between the hum and flow of the other Erikas around them.

They were dropped off in the street, the others giving their fledgling time to flex their wings. They wandered, tilting their head as the passerby’s eyes slid off of their form, effectively ignored. That bothered them; Why did that bother them? 

A house, imposing on its hill and in its ornate decor, drew their eyes in curiosity. Flashes of the rooms inside swam by, prompting another perplexed tilt of their head. Someone was there, they could sense that quite easily. Someone was upset. Hurting. Wishing for someone missing to return to them. 

Their name was Eri- No. That wasn’t right. They had a name. A different name. He had a name. His presence flickered in fear, wings aloft behind him. Why couldn’t he remember his name? The longer he stared at the house on the hill, the more he staggered toward it. It was his, that house, that person inside, all his, whoever he had been. 

What was his name? He reached for the doorknob, finding it locked but tumbling through in a slip of void and space. As he sprawled against the marble floor, he caught his reflection in a floor-length mirror. There was nothing to recognize, just a too-tall being glowing black with energy and a pair of gracefully extended, gilded wings. 

Nothing else came to him. Had he always looked like this? No, that didn’t feel right either. Something was missing. He rose from where he’d left a few feathers wafting to the ground, shuffling towards the inner rooms. Perhaps there were answers there. Perhaps his name was there, just waiting to be called out.


End file.
